


Dan and Phil Go Outside

by adorkablephil (kimberly_a)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fairy Tale Style, Fate, Love at First Sight, M/M, Magic, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 20:52:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14065347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimberly_a/pseuds/adorkablephil
Summary: Their story is like a fairy tale...





	Dan and Phil Go Outside

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know wtf this is. But thank you to the old treehouse folks who read the first draft during a difficult time in my life.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young prince named Daniel who had curling brown hair and eyes warm as autumn leaves. He lived with his loving parents in a magical kingdom full of wonders he delighted in exploring. He spent his idyllic childhood wandering the countryside on horseback, climbing fantastically gnarled oaks, and crossing sparkling streams by leaping nimbly from one rock to the next, only laughing merrily if a misstep led him to an unexpected dunking.

He was a merry lad, and all the kingdom loved him, none more so than his parents, the king and queen.

But long before his birth, his parents had inadvertently offended the fairies, a slight that had never been forgotten. The fairies had simply waited long years until the optimal moment to seek their vengeance, the moment when they might cause the king and queen the most pain possible.

On Prince Daniel’s eighteenth birthday, his royal parents invited all the kingdom to celebrate their beloved child’s ascension to manhood, with not only the castle but also its environs decorated with colorful flowers and pennants, as well as tables laden with delicious foods and drink for all to share in toasting the birth and life of the prince.

Prince Daniel walked among his people, smiling and talking with them, showing no haughty pride but only humility and kindness. Many reached out to take his hand, and he always squeezed their hands warmly before moving on.

But one hand that emerged from the crowd to grasp his was cool and smooth like stone, though the fingers curved to grip him so firmly that he could not pull free. He looked up into a face lovely and cruel, and he instinctively knew that this was one of the fairy folk, though he did not know of his parents’ history with their realm.

“You shall pay their debt,” the fairy said in a voice that rang like bells, and when she released his hand Prince Daniel fell senseless to the ground.

Chaos ensued, as farmers and milkmaids, merchants and craftsmen, all people of the kingdom who had gathered from all walks of life saw their magnificent prince suddenly laid low with no apparent cause. In the tumult, the fairy simply vanished, leaving no trace, and so the king and queen could find no explanation for why their only son had fallen into this deathlike stillness.

Men and women, his loyal and loving subjects, gathered around to gently lift the senseless prince from the ground and carry him into the castle, where servants prepared a lavish chamber for him. They lay his body upon a sumptuous bed while the king and queen watched with grief on their regal faces.

All hoped that the prince would wake, that he would open those merry brown eyes and once again leap to his feet and smile at his loving parents. But years passed, and his eyes remained closed, his body limp as if deep in slumber, his chest rising and falling gently with the breath that told them he did, in fact, still live.

Time passed, and eventually the king and queen both died of old age, leaving no heir except their slumbering son. For a time, loyal servants continued to tend Prince Daniel in his chamber, but while his body never aged, all around him grew older and older, until finally no one alive remembered the merry prince and his laughing eyes like autumn leaves. None who had loved him still lived to care for him in his magical repose, and so he was abandoned in his lonely, silent chamber.

With no one caring to tend it, the castle slowly fell into disrepair, wild rose bushes sprouting from the once well-tended gardens and growing over decades into a tangled wall of thorns that deterred passersby from attempting to enter, protecting the slumbering boy who never aged but lived yet in some magically suspended state between death and true life.

But throughout the kingdom the story of a beautiful, sleeping prince within the abandoned castle persisted, passed down through the generations, sometimes leading adventurers to brave the thorny hedge with its deceptively lovely roses. Knights from far and wide came to prove their mettle by attacking the wall of thorns with their sharp swords and axes. Lovely maidens in shining armor, handsome men with shields of silver and gold—as years and decades passed, all found themselves defeated by the impenetrable tangle of fragrant but deadly greenery that protected the mythical sleeping prince.

And then one day a young man came to the long-neglected kingdom. He roamed its verdant hillsides, walking among the fantastically gnarled oaks and crossing the burbling streams by hopping nimbly from one rock to another, laughing merrily when a misplaced step resulted in his receiving an unexpected dunking.

He was no armor-bearing knight, no sword-wielding warrior, but only a minstrel, a smiling fellow who greeted strangers on his travels and sang for his supper in taverns along the way. His hair was dark and smooth, his skin pale and fine, his eyes sparkling blue and green and yellow like the sun-dappled brooks he had crossed along his voyage. But what strangers remembered most after he had departed was always his laughter, which brought joy to everyone he met.

In his childhood, the minstrel had heard tale of the sleeping prince in the abandoned castle surrounded by thorns, and in his youth had turned the tale into a song which had brought him great acclaim in the courts of the kingdoms he visited in his wanderings. And so as a young man he had decided to travel to this storied place to see with his own eyes the castle with its hedge of thorny roses.

He saw the turrets of the castle from a far-off hillside, but as he came closer he could see nothing but the tangle of densely-twined wild roses as its height and thickness hid the entirety of the castle from view. As he approached the hedge, he found himself charmed by the wondrous scent of the roses that bloomed so innocently among the dangerous thorns. The flowers were vivid in the sunshine, all shades of pink and red and yellow, their aroma heady in the warm summer air. He leaned close to inspect a rose tinted the same delicate pink as the blush that rose to his own cheeks when he laughed most merrily.

Some instinct urged him to press his lips to the delicate petals, and they were deliciously soft beneath his kiss. As if by some magical signal, the sharp-thorned branches rustled and creaked as they disentangled themselves, forming an arched tunnel through which the minstrel walked unimpeded. He gazed about himself in wonder, admiring the beauty of all he saw: the small birds that lived within the hedge, the tiny nests that cradled their vulnerable eggs, the way bright blue sky was visible through small gaps between branches as he traversed the hedge to find himself at the door to the castle.

The large wooden door stood slightly ajar, its fine silver handle tarnished by weather and age. The minstrel entered the castle hesitantly. This had once been someone else’s home and he did not wish to trespass, but his curiosity at the stories he had been hearing since childhood urged him to explore, and he could not resist.

As he walked the halls of the shadowy castle, he saw the remnants of fine tapestries in tatters upon the walls and finely-crafted wooden furniture carved with designs that urged him to trace their lines with his slim fingers. He smiled at the sight of rabbits and other small woodland creatures who had taken refuge within the walls of the castle. They startled at the sight of him but did not run away, as they had lived such protected lives that they had never learned to fear humans. He spoke gently to a ferret that watched him with curious eyes, then gazed admiringly at a large owl roosting sleepily in the rafters.

He hummed a song to himself as he roamed the abandoned castle, spontaneously crooning comfortingly silly lyrics to soothe the small startled residents who had come to populate the rooms and halls. Some of the animals followed him curiously, maintaining a safe distance but intrigued by this novelty in their home.

Eventually, the minstrel happened upon a door with an elaborate brass handle, the fine grain of the wood carved all over with roses. Somehow he knew that this must be the sleeping prince’s chamber. He opened the door and looked inside. Again, he did not wish to trespass, and yet something told him that he traveled a path fated for him, and so he stepped into the room and espied Prince Daniel, still and quiet in his royal bower.

The minstrel slowly walked nearer until he stood beside the bed and gazed down at the beauty of the prince’s peaceful face, the dark lashes resting against his cheeks, the pink of his lips so similar to the pink of the rose that had allowed the minstrel entry into this private sanctuary.

“Hello?” the minstrel spoke softly, hoping to wake the young man without startling him, but the prince did not move. A brush against his ankle alerted the minstrel that the ferret had ventured nearer and now rubbed affectionately against his feet and ankles. He smiled down at the friendly animal, then back at the rabbits and squirrels hovering in the doorway.

Turning back to the sleeping prince, the minstrel let his eyes rove over the young man’s beautiful features. His brown hair twined in curls and waves that looked as if they would be soft to the touch, and his lips looked soft but slightly chapped. The minstrel yearned to heal them with a kiss, but knew that such behavior toward a helpless, sleeping person would be the worst kind of treachery.

He remembered the rose, so identical in color to the prince’s lips as they were illuminated by the sunlight streaming in through the chamber’s wide windows. Kissing the rose had seemed to affect the enchantment in some way. Was it possible that kissing those pink lips might likewise break some curse cast and forgotten decades past? Could he wake the prince as sometimes happened in the ancient songs written by minstrels in generations of old?

Tentatively, the minstrel leaned closer, his face nearing the peaceful one that slumbered on. A rosy patch of skin near the prince’s jaw brought a slight smile to the minstrel’s lips for some reason, a small but beautiful imperfection in the otherwise otherworldly loveliness of that motionless visage. As his lips neared the prince’s, the minstrel allowed his eyes to flutter closed, then pressed their mouths together with only the softest of touches. Soft, yes, very soft, but lingering a moment before he pulled back to standing beside the bed, watching the prince’s face in hope.

Nothing happened immediately, but then the prince’s pink lips curved ever so slightly into the smallest of smiles, as if he were wakening from a particularly pleasant dream, and his chest rose with a slightly deeper breath, which he then released with a quiet sigh. As the minstrel watched, the prince’s eyes fluttered open, revealing irises like autumn leaves, and their gazes met. The minstrel smiled down at him, but the prince looked confused for a moment.

“I was dreaming of you,” Prince Daniel murmured uncertainly. “You were singing … and there were … roses.” He sat up to look around him, and the damask coverlet fell aside. Slowly, he swung his legs so that he could rise to stand beside the bed, surprised to find that he and the stranger were very nearly the same height. The prince and the minstrel gazed at each other in silence for a long moment, and then Prince Daniel reached out a hand toward the minstrel’s lips, brushing them with only the slightest touch of his finger before he said, “Your name is Philip.”

The minstrel’s eyes widened. “Yes, it is. I don’t know what magic told you that.”

The prince smiled softly. “Perhaps the same magic that led you here to wake me.”

“Perhaps,” the minstrel replied, and reached out his right hand toward the prince’s left. The prince took his hand, and they looked around them, unsure what to do now.

“The castle is protected by a high hedge of sharpest thorns,” Philip the minstrel explained.

Daniel nodded. “I feel it has protected me long and well. But perhaps the time has come to venture beyond its security. Well I remember my kingdom’s lovely hills and streams, its majestic oaks and friendly peoples.”

The minstrel squeezed the prince’s hand gently, his smile tinged with sadness. “You have slept long and long, good prince. I fear this land has changed during your sleep and that the people have gone.”

“But you are here,” Daniel replied and smiled a dimpled smile at the gentle minstrel. He looked around him again before adding, “I believe I may wish to return here when the time is right, when I desire shelter, and I would like for you to join me, but for now…” his eyes were bright and excited and merry, “shall we go outside?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is weird. I just keep writing things and then saying, "I know this isn't my usual style, but..." Maybe eventually I'll just have to admit that I no longer have one particular style of fic and am just going to keep writing different things that surprise me.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as @adorkablephil and Twitter as @stilladorkable. Come say hi any time!


End file.
